


Looking for Trouble

by Moontyger



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline's late for a date at the Hanged Man.  Merrill's terrible at waiting and Isabela's always willing to go looking for trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Misprinting (misprinting)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misprinting/gifts).



“She's late.” Merrill looked toward the door of the Hanged Man for what had to be at least the twentieth time in the last hour. Even when she tore her gaze away and looked at Isabela, it was clear she was having a hard time focusing on her. Merrill's eyes were clouded; her brow furrowed. She fidgeted, shifting her hips in her chair in a way that spoke of agitation rather than desire. And not even Isabela making a silly face to test if she actually saw her got her to smile.

Isabela sighed a little at that, but everything else about her remained relaxed. She sprawled on the bench by their table as though it were a second home and took another swallow of wine before she spoke. “Aveline's a big girl. She can take care of herself.” 

“I know.” Merrill slid her hands beneath her thighs, holding them still with the weight of her body, but even though it stopped her fidgeting, she still kept stealing glances at the door. Despite her words, she clearly _didn't_ know, at least not enough to keep from worrying.

Isabela finished her glass, then gave it a quarter of an hour more before she gave in. She wasn't deliberately being obnoxious – at least, not this time. But she was comfortable here and saw little reason to leave the cozy tavern on a chilly night if she didn't have to. But it was clear Merrill wouldn't be distracted and besides, Aveline _was_ awfully late.

“All right, kitten. You can stop worrying. We'll go find her.”

Merrill sprang to her feet so fast that one might have been forgiven for suspecting her bench was on fire. Isabela smirked at her reaction. “I'll be sure to tell Aveline how eager you were to see her tonight.”

She probably shouldn't tease her, not when Merrill was so sincere in her concern, but Isabela had never been one for “shouldn't” and she considered the blush she got in response ample reward for her comment. Merrill had a face made for blushing; it set off her eyes and made her vallasin more vivid. In short, it was cute, though Isabela just grinned at her rather than outright saying it.

“It's just that she's very late. And she's a guard, so she might be fighting, and we're not with her.”

Isabela shrugged, then opened the door with a bit of a flourish, holding it to let Merrill go through first. “Aveline's no stranger to fighting. And she won't be alone.” Which, if she were honest, was the other major portion of why she hadn't wanted to go look for her. Aveline was fine, at least these days, but she'd seen the way the other guards looked at her and Merrill. When it came to herself, Isabela didn't mind; in fact, she found it amusing. After all, it wasn't as though they were wrong. But for all that she was technically just as much a criminal as Isabela - maybe even more so - Merrill deserved better.

Kirkwall tonight was cold and wet. It wasn't quite raining, but there were occasional drops and the streets were shrouded in a fog that clung to everything like a damp sheet. Isabela let the door swing shut behind them, then took a deep breath, letting her eyes and lungs adjust. It was quite a contrast to the warm, smoky room they'd just left and she sighed a little in regret for her lost comfortable table and wine that wasn't the best quality, but still eminently drinkable. And if perhaps her sigh was for a little more than that, if nights like this reminded her of nights out on deck, miles from anywhere and working with her crew to navigate through the fog, no one had to know.

But there would be time for nostalgia later. Now that she saw how thick the fog had grown, Isabela thought Merrill might have had a point. Visibility this low was practically an engraved invitation for trouble and she should know. A pirate like herself might be used to working through it anyway, but she had less confidence when it came to the city guard.

Of course, usually she considered their incompetence to be a good thing. One day she no doubt would again, but for now, it worked against her plans rather than for them. Funny how all this time on land had made such a difference. Isabela remained still a moment more, turning her head to listen and letting the city at night settle into her bones, grounding her here and now. Then she slid an arm around Merrill's waist and they started off. 

They couldn't walk like that for long, of course. It was too awkward and it didn't help that neither of them had ever been quite comfortable walking on the city streets, despite all the time they'd spent here. Merrill was still prone to walking as though the cobbles hurt her feet and Isabela never felt quite right on ground that stayed firm beneath her feet. So after a few steps, Isabela dropped her arm and they walked side by side – not quite touching, but close enough that she could still feel a hint of warmth.

She couldn't say how long it took before they found the patrol; the fog hid enough that it was hard to tell. Isabela knew the path of the patrols well enough, but the fact that there must have been trouble to delay them this long made their location harder to predict.

They heard them before they saw them; the clang of weapons carried a long way at this time of night. Isabela paused to slide her daggers from their sheaths; she knew from experience that it could be hard to judge distance in weather like this and she didn't want to come upon the fight unprepared. “Sounds like you were right, kitten. Aveline needs our help.”

It was a good thing she was prepared, because they nearly walked right into the first small group of combatants. Merrill must have seen them first, because she was already casting by the time Isabela had her daggers in position. She ducked the first attack, but it was close enough that she felt the wind of the blade's passage over her head, then returned it with a low cut to a leg while she was crouched. It connected, but not as solidly as she would have liked; her opponent was weakened, but not down.

It was easy to lose herself in the fight, trading cuts as though it were little more than some elaborate game. In the midst of a battle, Isabela couldn't afford to keep too much track of her companions; she had to trust that they could see to themselves. But she noticed when they were finally close enough to see Aveline, if only because her fighting style had become so familiar that Isabela could recognize it anywhere.

It was alarming, in a way, as alarming as finding herself fighting on the side of the guards rather than against them. (Though Isabela usually found that more funny than anything else. Circumstances made strange alliances, but that didn't mean she had changed.) She'd never been one for strings, not since her late, unlamented husband, so what was she doing becoming so used to someone else that she could recognize them just by the sound their shield made when it hit an enemy's armored chest?

One day, it would be time to move on. She wasn't one to settle down and stay in one place; if things had been different, she'd already be gone. And when that time came, what then? Merrill might come with her; the Dalish weren't seafarers, but they were no strangers to wandering. But Aveline was a homebody at heart. She liked to find somewhere she belonged and settle down. Even if she could get over her fondness for the law, she'd probably never be comfortable living a pirate's life.

A blow that she was a fraction too slow to dodge reminded her that she'd let her attention wander too far. For now, they had a fight to win. The future could take care of itself; it always did.

By the time the battle was over, they were all a little bloodied, sweaty, and bruised. Aveline in particular had taken a blow to her cheek that was already swelling; she'd probably have a black eye tomorrow. But if it bothered her, you'd never be able to tell. She was all business as she dismissed the rest of her patrol, sending them back for the shift change that was already overdue.

It was only afterward that she turned her attention to Merrill and Isabela. “What are you two doing here?”

“You were late,” Merrill complained.

“Merrill was worried,” Isabela said, speaking at nearly the same time. “Those lovely tattoos of hers were getting all wrinkled and we couldn't have that.”

Aveline looked between the two of them and smiled, a little less wide than she might have had her face been uninjured, but still a genuine one. “Well, thanks. The help was appreciated.”

“Then you're ready to come with us?” Now that the danger was over, Merrill was finally relaxed, despite the blood that still dripped from her hands.

“I really should -” Aveline began, but Isabela interrupted her.

“Of course she is.” She linked arms with Aveline as though they were children, then used the leverage to turn her. “We can't let her go getting into more trouble.”

“That's right,” Merrill agreed, and took Aveline's other arm. Aveline was strong enough that she could probably have shaken both of them off if she'd really wanted, but she didn't even try.

“Between the two of you, I think I'm already in trouble.”

“True. But you like it that way.”

Once, Aveline would have argued. Even now, after months of whatever this was between the three of them: nights spent in the Hanged Man that had led to sharing a bed too often to pretend it was mere chance, her cheeks still reddened a bit, but she was honest enough to say, “I suppose I do.”

Isabela turned her head and grinned at them both. “That's my girl.”


End file.
